


Baby, You Were My Picket Fence

by alexenglish



Series: Tumblr Fic [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Kidnapped Stiles, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Stiles Stilinski Finds Out About Werewolves, Werewolf Hunters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-25 06:30:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2611814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexenglish/pseuds/alexenglish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek's a <i>werewolf</i>.<br/>Stiles is not handling this well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby, You Were My Picket Fence

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](http://derekandstiles.com/post/102448289469/sterek-au-derek-is-terrified-of-telling-his) tumblr post.
> 
> I just started writing and didn't stop.

“Y-you’re _what_?” Stiles asks, voice squeaking roughly in a way that it hasn’t since he was a teenager. Derek levels him with an insecure glare, eyes still glowing -- _glowing_ \-- blue at him. Stile lets out a ‘meep’.

“Werewolf,” Derek says, slowly as if he needs to enunciate to make it better. It doesn’t make it better. None of this makes _sense_.

“Werewolves aren’t--” except they _are_. There’s one standing in front of him, flashing his crazy LED eyes at him in exasperation. Derek’s a werewolf and he’s _exasperated_ with Stiles. It’s sort of morbidly fascinating, actually, but Stiles can’t make himself move closer to Derek at all.

“It’s not like in the movies, we don’t lose control and forget who we are,” Derek says, voice soft. There’s a blush on his cheeks, his ears are red. He’s fidgeting, _fidgeting_ , which means he’s uncomfortable, but Stiles can’t bring himself to comfort him.

Is he just supposed to be _okay_ with it? He is, he’s supposed to be _so_ okay with all of this. Derek is his _boyfriend_ , Stiles is going to ask him to _marry him_. _Was_ going to ask Derek to marry him. _Is_ going to marry him. He doesn’t know.

Derek is a _werewolf_.

“I can’t -- Can you -- Fuck, _Derek_ ,” Stiles says, exhaling heavily. He doesn’t know what to do with this. How is he supposed to just _deal_ with this. It’s a lot of information. _Werewolves_ , fuck.

“I can leave,” Derek says, eyes blinking out suddenly. Stiles wonders what comes with the eyes. Super strength? That would explain Derek’s stamina, how he has no problem holding Stiles up against the wall to fuck him. Super hearing? Super _smell_? Oh god.

Stiles just nods, numb from shock. Leaving, leaving is good, leaving will help. Stiles just needs space, space to think and analyse and _freak out_ where Derek isn’t hovering with his eyes and his _werewolf-y-ness_. Fucking fuck.

Derek lets the hurt he’s feeling show on his face for a second before he shuts it down and blanks it out. He’s so good at that, erecting that wall. It hasn’t been an issue lately, between him and Stiles, but now --

Stiles doesn’t have it in him to chastise Derek for hiding behind old habits. Stiles is about to have a meltdown, he can’t help Derek through this.

“Just -- How long? Have you been a…?” He can’t make himself say it. Which is _stupid_. The muscle of Derek’s jaw bulges when he clenches his teeth.

“All my life,” Derek says, and then he’s gone.

Stiles sits down on the couch heavily. Werewolves. Fucking werewolves.

 _All my life_. Derek’s been a werewolf this whole time. Almost two years and Stiles has had _no idea_. He doesn’t know if that makes Derek an excellent liar or if it makes Stiles completely oblivious.

Stiles drags himself upstairs and unlocks the safe, trying to ignore the tremble in his hand. He pulls the silver ring box out, opening it slowly to stare at the ring. _Derek’s_ ring. It’s a black band, polished to perfection. Inside, engraved in silver is the Latin phrase: _si vis amari, ama_.

“If you wished to be loved, love.”

\--

Derek doesn’t call, he doesn’t text. It wouldn’t be like Derek to be the first person to put himself out there or to touch base when something’s wrong. Stiles knows that, but he can’t help looking at his phone, wishing there was something, _anything_.

Cora hasn’t texted him either, he wonders if she’s a werewolf too. Derek probably told her how Stiles reacted so badly, how he couldn’t get out a proper sentence.

And it’s not that Stiles doesn’t have questions. He has questions. He has so many questions he’s actually started a list of them in their household notebook. He has a household notebook with a _werewolf_. A werewolf who, after next to two years of dating exclusively and living together and glorious sex didn’t even _bother_ \--

That’s _so_ his issue.

Well, the “supernatural being” thing is also his issue, but the lying. The _lying_. Fuck.

Stiles doesn’t lie. Not really. He lies like everyone else does: small things, white lies. ‘Nothing’ when there’s something, ‘I’m fine’ when he doesn’t want to talk about it. But, nothing big, nothing important, nothing that could potentially change the _entirety_ of their relationship. Derek’s been keeping this from him, this huge part of him, and Stiles hates that. It makes his stomach clench tight and anxious.

He doesn’t text Derek.

\--

“What’s going on with you and Derek, son?” His dad is calling him about Derek. Oh god, the whole town must know that Derek hasn’t been home in almost a week. They’re probably all wondering what Stiles has done to that ‘nice Hale boy’ to make him leave.

“Oh my god, is this an intervention? A one-man, phone call intervention? You can’t just spring that on me, you’re supposed to say _hello_ first,” Stiles paces back and forth between the kitchen and the living, trying to ignore the pictures of him and Derek. Stiles and Derek at the beach, Stiles and Derek eating ice cream, Stiles and Derek at Scott and Kira’s wedding. Stiles and Derek, Stiles and Derek, Stiles and Derek.

“Hello, son, how are you? Did you kick your boyfriend out of your house?” his dad asks, exasperated. Everyone is so exasperated lately.

“ _No_ , he went willingly,” Stiles says, sighing. His dad is silent, waiting for an explanation. “We’re not fighting, we just -- He told me something, it’s confidential, but it’s been a secret for a long time and I’m probably not taking it as well as I could, but he can’t expect me to just -- I don’t _know_ how I’m supposed to react…” He doesn’t know how to explain without explaining.

“Would it be a bad enough reaction that you want to call off the proposal?” his dad asks.

“ _No_ ,” Stiles says, vehemently, whipping his head around as if there’s eavesdroppers. His dad is the _only_ person who knows about the ring. Scott doesn’t even know. One of the reasons why Stiles is avoiding Scott, he can’t keep a secret from Scott.

The other reason is that Scott will _pry_. Kira will _pry_. They’ll want to know why Stiles and Derek aren’t being StilesandDerek. Word smashed lovers, constantly caught in each other’s orbit.

Shit, his inner monologue is getting poetic, this is _bad_.

“And yet it’s enough to kick him out for almost a week?” his father asks him, voice slow and serious. The problem with his dad is that his dad _loves_ Derek. To him, Derek is the perfect match for his son. An easy going guy who thinks things through to perfectly counterbalance his spastic son who leaps into situations without thinking.

 _Derek_ was a situation he lept into without thinking, but he doesn’t bother pointing that out to his dad.

“I didn’t _kick him out_ , but _yes_. I just need to recalibrate, you know? It was big, like _big_ , like mega-big. I can’t just _ignore it_.”

“Well, just remember it’s his house too, son,” his dad says. And of course Stiles _knows_. There’s reminders everywhere. Derek’s favorite tea, Derek’s socks. Derek’s stupid, specific brand of toothpaste lying next to Stiles’ perfectly good, _normal_ toothpaste. It’s all there, in every nook and cranny, on every wall.

“You’re right, I’m going to call him and we’re going to switch,” Stiles says, looking at Derek’s stupid 2% percent milk in the fridge, the expiration date taunting him. If Derek was here, it would be gone already. He drinks milk in the morning. “I’m going to come sleep on your couch.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, son,” his dad says, exasperated again.

“It’s fine, he needs to finish his milk,” Stiles says, mournfully shutting the refrigerator.

“Stiles--”

“No, stop, I’m being stupid, I just, it’s _weird_.”

“Stiles, short of saying he’s suddenly straight and is escaping to live a white collar life, or he cheated on you, which I doubt because you would have _told me_ , I don’t see how it can be weird.”

“Dad, you have no idea.”

“Is it a ladies underwear thing? Because that’s a pretty vanilla kink,” his dad says.

“ _What_? Oh my god, no, stop, I’m hanging up _right now_. Okay, I love you, _goodbye_.”

\--

Stiles wakes up with an aggressively painful headache, like he’s stuffed with cotton, pure aching. His shoulders are pulled into an awkward position behind him, hands bound with rope. No good, old-fashioned handcuffs for this guy, no sir.

His _hands are bound._

“Holy shit,” he says, low and breathless. At least he isn’t gagged. The white panels and jostling, bumpiness suggests he’s in the back of a moving van. There’s a guy crouched in front of him, dressed in black, with a balaclava pushed up to reveal his face. He’s all sharp angles, dark eyes hard as flint. There’s a knife the size of Stiles’ forearm strapped to his thigh, two guns in a double shoulder holster.

“Is this a kidnapping?” Stiles asks, anxiety making his heart race. He puts pressure on the ropes binding him, it’s loose around the left hand, but not loose enough to squeeze his hand through. “Am I being kidnapped?”

“You’re being bait,” the guy says. He moves forward to shove Stiles upright, leaning him against the wall of the van.

“Who are you? Why--? I mean, my dad’s the sheriff, but small town sheriff, I shouldn’t be worth kidnapping.” The guy smiles sharp and condescending.

“This isn’t about your dad, it’s about your boyfriend,” he says. _Derek_? The guy gestures to the driver with his head. “We’re hunters.” The driver gives him a two-fingered salute.

“Hunters? It’s not even a hunting season! Can I plead ‘parlay’, if so all the parlay!” Stiles says, frantically. “You can’t just keep me back here!” The guy throws his head laughs.

“You’re dating a beta from the most powerful pack on the west coast and you don’t know that there are werewolf hunters?” he asks, a sneer on his face. Beta? _Pack_? Geez, they're like real wolves.

“The most powerful…?” Stiles asks. “Dude, I just found out about the werewolf thing. Werewolf hunters now? Geez, can’t a guy catch a freaking break? As if werewolves aren’t enough.”

The guy’s face crumples in confusion. He unstraps his knife, leaning forward.

“Our intel says you’ve been together two years,” he says. “You expect me to believe you _just_ found out he’s a werewolf?” Stiles presses his back into the panelling of the van, not that it will help, but putting even a centimeter of space between him and the tip of the knife is reassuring.

“Yeah, yes, I definitely expect you to believe that, it’s _true_ ,” Stiles says, voice getting high again. “He just told me. Seriously, I haven’t even seen him in like two weeks, we’re on _hiatus_.”

“Hiatus?”

“Hiatus, it’s like a break, but without the risk of anyone pulling a Ross,” Stiles says, briskly. “That’s not the point, the point is you’re kidnapping me and I definitely don’t condone this.”

The hunter laughs, long and loud. “Man, you’ve got a mouth, you’re definitely the most interesting hostage we’ve had.” _Hostage_. And he’s not the first.

“Oh, buddy, you are so going down,” Stiles says. His dad will notice he’s gone, he has an entire police force at his back. Maybe Derek too, since these guys are here specifically for Derek. Despite being _tied up_ in the back of a dirty van with _actual_ _kidnappers_ , Stiles feels a fizzle of excitement at the idea that he’ll get to see Derek. Even if it’s in a rescuing capacity.

\--

“OH MY GOD, your _face_ ,” Stiles says, flailing against Derek. The relief is still making him giddy and excited, even though he should be fearing for his life. Derek lets out a low rumble, a _growl_ , that reverberates through Stiles. Stiles can feel it in his _toes_. “You just _growled at me_. Geez, how is this my life. Your _face_ , you didn’t show me this face before.”

“You would have freaked out,” Derek grunts, grabbing Stiles’ arm when Stiles tries to go left while Derek goes right.

“The exit--”

“There’s hunters--”

“I can _see_ it,” Stiles says, ducking down when Derek presses a hand to the top of his head. The crate they’re crouched behind is minimal cover at best. In the distance Stiles can hear grunting and fighting, the _schtick_ of arrows. Thankfully no one has started on the guns yet.

“I can smell three hunters in that area, it’s not an exit,” Derek says, hands going to his thigh. There’s an arrow with a gleaming black shaft sticking out of it that Stiles didn’t notice. He pitches sideways, trying not to look at it.

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Stiles gasps, screwing his eyes shut. “It’s in your leg, it’s in your leg! There’s an arrow in your leg!”

“Yes, Stiles, scream louder so all the hunters can be alerted of our position,” Derek says, grabbing Stiles’ arm so he can’t leave the cover of the crate. It’s not even _decent_ cover, Stiles can see a stack of shelves that are _way_ bigger than this crate.

Derek’s hands flutter around the shaft of the arrow, not doing anything.

“Aren’t you going to pull it out? Or, wait, no! There’s an artery, leave it, ‘cause you might die if you pull it out. Like the crocodile hunter guy!”

“I have to pull it out to heal,” Derek says, past gritted teeth. “It’s mountain ash, I can’t touch it. You need to pull it out, Stiles.”

“Heal? Mountain _what_? I can’t pull that out! I’ll throw up and pass out, and only in that order if we’re _lucky_ ,” Stiles says, hand spasming when Derek picks it up. “The hunters will definitely know where we are if they hear my huge head hit the concrete when I _faint_. Derek, Derek, _oh my god_.”

Derek is holding Stiles’ hand, looking into his eyes.

“Stiles,” he says, very seriously, voice low. It’s the tone he takes when he tells Stiles he loves him, when they have really good sex. Oh, god, if this is some ‘last words’ bullshit Stiles is going to have a breakdown. “Take the arrow out, or I will just toss you back out there and let them have you.”

Stiles swallows, ripping his hand away. He wraps his fingers around the shaft tightly. It tingles against his skin, sharp like little ant bites.

“I’m bait, no one actually wants to _keep_ bait,” Stiles grumbles, closing his eyes. He puts both hands on the arrow and _tugs_. It pulls up and Stiles just keeps tugging, falling backwards when it _pops_ out of Derek’s leg unexpectedly.

The arrow is covered in blood.

“This was just in your leg, this was, oh, I think I’m going to be sick,” Stiles blanches, gagging with his whole body, tongue out. The nausea is real, so real.

“Thanks babe,” Derek grunts, sending that excitement through Stiles’ chest again. Babe, he’s still _babe_. Stiles watches in morbid fascination as Derek’s skin knits itself back together neatly. This explains the perfect skin. Stiles has always thought Derek didn’t have any scars because he was a weird recluse child who turned into a weird recluse adult.

“You called me babe! I’m still babe!” Stiles says, throwing the arrow somewhere behind him so he doesn’t have to look at it or think about it. “I’m so sorry, I’m such a shithead.”

“This isn’t really the time, Stiles,” Derek says, twisting his head to look at the warehouse as a whole. Somewhere out there his mom and sisters are fighting the main group of hunters while his uncle and his dad chase down the van that took off. On _foot_. Well, hands and feet. Weird, werewolf crouch-run, thing.

“Except we might die, so it totally is,” Stiles says, hand on Derek’s arm. Apparently, his family is handling it because Derek settles down and looks at Stiles with intensity and hurt. Hurt. Ugh, he hates that look, he hates that he _caused_ that look.

“I’m such an asshole, that’s not how I should have handled it,” Stiles says, growing warm. Derek loves when Stiles blushes, but Stiles hates it. “I should have asked you questions. I have so many questions, like about you and your family and your… species? _Species_. I love you, and I shouldn’t have done that. Please, forgive me.”

Derek doesn’t say anything.

“You’re doing the stoic man pain thing, I respect that,” Stiles babbles, getting nervous. Maybe Derek won’t forgive him. Maybe two years of dating and awesome sex won’t be enough to redeem Stiles. “I mean, I know I can’t just ignore you for two weeks and then expect things to go back to normal. And the face I’ll get used to, it’s actually pretty cute. I like the growling, the growling is really sexy, you shouldn’t hold that back. I can do this, I can be with a werewolf. I can marry a werewolf. You’re still _you_ , y’know? Just different, except _not_ because this is who you are, so really nothing’s that different!”

“Marry?” Derek asks, face looking so vulnerable. Stiles goes cold.

“Marry? Who said -- I mean I did say! It was supposed to be a surprise though! I mean, it probably is -- A surprise, but it was supposed to be a romantic surprise, not a post-hostage, arrow-out-of-the-leg surprise.” Stiles stops, exhaling heavily. If he thinks about the situation, he might actually cry. He hasn’t spoken to Derek in two weeks, got kidnapped, and now completely ruined his perfect proposal by blabbing. Fucking fuck.

Of course, Derek doesn’t have the chance to answer because a hunter stalks around the side of the crate and Derek lunges at him, claws out. _Claws_.

\--

“Were you serious?” Derek asks, hand holding a spot on his ribs where there’s an arrow sticking out. Apparently Stiles isn’t allowed to just pull this one out, this one is piercing a lung. Stiles is so okay with that though, he honestly doesn’t think he could do that whole thing again. They’re taking Derek to a veterinarian. A _vet_.

There are so many horrible jokes that Stiles is going to tell Derek once his frightening, supernaturally enhanced family isn’t around.

Cora, Laura, and Peter are in the back of the van with them, all pretending like they’re not listening in.

“Serious? Me, I -- about?” Stiles asks, tearing his eyes away from the rise and fall of Derek’s chest. There’s a rattle that escapes him when he breathes that is, quite frankly, _very concerning_.

“Marrying me?” Derek says, and now _everybody_ is listening. Even Talia’s head swings around to look at Stiles.

“I -- I mean, _yeah_ , duh,” Stiles says, fidgeting. He doesn’t look away from Derek’s eyes. Tunnel vision, tunnel vision. “I have the ring, I’ve _had_ the ring. But it was supposed to be awesome with rose petals maybe and really intense declarations of love, so I ruined it and y’know, but, yeah, so serious. I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.”

And it was true. Werewolf or not, Derek is, has been, the only person he has ever considered marrying. Stiles is very goal oriented and marrying Derek is his _goal_.

Derek’s smile is blinding, little bunny teeth making an appearance.

“Shit, I love you, dude,” Stiles says, breathlessly.

“I love you too, Stiles,” Derek says, frowning seriously. “Don’t call me dude.”

\--

“Did you drink my milk?” Derek asks when Stiles gets out of the shower. His nostrils are flared, like he can smell whether or not Stiles used the milk. It’s adorable. Stiles doesn’t know how he missed this sort of thing. Flared nostrils, crazy strength. Ugh.

“You hate wasted milk, it’s about to expire,” Stiles explains. Something settles in his chest when he sees Derek glare petulantly in his direction and shove his milk back in the fridge. This is where Derek belongs. With him back, Stiles feels warm and whole again.

“What?” Derek asks, head jerking up.

“What, what?”

“What are thinking about?” Derek asks, he looks embarrassed. “You -- you smell happy.”

“You can _smell_ that?” Stiles asks, creeping closer so he can nose at Derek’s ear, kiss his neck. “What else can you smell? Can you smell my epic boner for you?”

“Your heart-boner, maybe,” Derek says, laughing. “What were you thinking about?”

“You, back home. It’s just right, y’know? Where you belong and all that,” Stiles says, scraping his teeth against Derek’s neck. Derek makes a noise of agreement and spins around so he can push Stiles into the counter.

“Sex, we should have,” Stiles says, voice froggy in a poor Yoda impression. Derek laughs, licking a stripe up his neck.

“Yes,” is all he says, hoisting Stiles up. He’s supposed to make an equally dumb Star Wars reference, but Stiles will forgive him this once. Derek’s hands go under his butt while he carries him down the hall. Stiles always feels too big when Derek lifts him, since they’re the same height, but he lets it happen, ducking his head when they hit the entrance to the bedroom.

“Will you do the face? While we’re fucking? I think it might be a turn on, but I could be wrong, we’ll have to test it out. Also, growling, I’m so good with growling,” Stiles says, while Derek sucks hickies into his skin and tongues at his hipbones. “You wolfing out during sex sounds awesome.”

“‘Wolfing out’?” Derek asks, with a snort. “How about ‘transform’ or ‘shift’?”

“No, nope, ‘wolf out’ sounds way better,” Stiles says, holding in a laugh while Derek nips at his thighs with his teeth. “It makes you sound animalistic. Oh my god, does this count as beasitality?”

“Stiles, no, stop,” Derek says, leaning his head against Stiles’ thigh. His hard-on is probably gone. Stiles can conduct a presentation with a boner, but Derek has to stay in the mood. Stiles talking about his werewolf-y-ness is apparently a turn off.

“Seriously, though, that is slightly disturbing. I need answers, damnit! _Before_ you stick your dick in me! Actually, let’s do it _while_ you stick your dick in me, ‘cause that needed to happen like _five days ago_.”

“Stiles, shut _up_ ,” Derek says, laughing breaths puffing out against Stiles’ thigh.

“Damn it, my erection is going down! Growl or something, geez, why aren’t we fucking already?”

“You’re _talking_ \--”

“I’m always talking! Put your big werewolf dick in me, babe, right now. I’m serious. Make the face, _make the face_.”

\--

“Thanks,” Stiles says, watching Derek slide on the ring. They’re in the kitchen naked, eating ice cream out of the tub. It’s a post-sex ritual they do after make-up sex. They should come up with a post-sex ritual for rescued-and-alive sex.

“For what?” Derek asks, very seriously. He keeps looking at the ring with something like shock on his face, as if he doesn’t really believe it.

“For telling me,” Stiles says, pressing his front along Derek’s side and taking his left hand. He ghosts his thumb over the ring. “For giving me space even though it hurt. For _rescuing me_.” Stiles kisses Derek’s neck softly, sighing. “For saying yes.”

“You’re welcome, and thank you.”

“For?”

Derek turns to look at Stiles, kissing his forehead.

“For being here, with me, now.”

There’s something warm exploding in Stiles’ chest.

“ _Duh_ , where else would I be?” he asks, with a laugh, sliding his nose against Derek’s cheek. He can totally handle that his _fiance_ is a werewolf. His _fiance_ is the best damn werewolf.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
